


"Not that one"

by LiraelClayr007



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Figuring Things Out, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:14:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Natasha watches. She sees. It's partly intentional and partly just who she is.Clint, on the other hand...For someone called "Hawkeye", he's got a rather large blind spot. Large, dark-haired, in the shape of a supersoldier.So Nat just watches. And waits.





	"Not that one"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/gifts).

> My very first winterhawk...anything! And since it was Pherryt who opened my eyes (and maybe handcuffed me) to this ship that wasn't even on my radar a few months ago, this is my my humble offering to her, and to the winterhawk multitudes. May it be pleasing unto you.
> 
> (I am such a nerd....)

Natasha Romanov sees things. She watches. It’s not surprising, really, given her upbringing. She’s often the first one to arrive purely out of habit, and although she doesn’t _hide_ exactly, she’s very good at making herself seem like part of the backdrop even when she’s just being herself. Even in the Tower she probably knows more than anyone else, just because she pays attention.

Except maybe Barton. But he has certain...blind spots.

It’s morning in the Tower, and Nat’s been watching her teammates stumble into the communal kitchen in various states of alertness for the past half hour. She’s sprawled on the sofa, reading a book, but she’s fairly certain no one has seen her yet. Steve’s first, and Sam’s only a few steps behind. They both look like they’ve been working out already, either in the gym or out running. They’re far too cheerful for the early hour, Steve poking fun at Sam and Sam dishing it right back. 

“...six more laps than you today,” Steve says as they come in. “How many am I up on you now? Seventy three?”

“_One_ seventy three,” Sam says, looking pained. Then he grins. “Say Cap, that’s _almost_ how old you are, isn’t it, old man?”

Steve winks and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re just jealous of how good I look in my old age.”

Sam snorts.

Bucky comes in next, silent and broody. Not actually brood-_ing_, she notices--he actually has the gleam of a smile in his eyes as he starts the coffee brewing--he just wears the dark, angsty look like a cloak. Once the coffee is done he sits at the breakfast bar, alternately sipping and staring into his mug.

A few minutes later, when Sam’s busy frying bacon and scrambling eggs and Steve’s making toast with instructions not to burn it this time, Bruce and Tony come in, chatting animatedly about something they’ve been working on in the lab. Tony’s walking backwards so he can keep facing Bruce, gesticulating wildly throughout the conversation. He backs all the way into the counter; at that exact moment the toast pops up and he turns, snagging a piece. “Excellent,” he says, taking a bite. He looks at Steve. “Needs butter.”

Steve glares with mock sternness, but before he can say anything Bruce says, “Manners, Tony.”

Tony looks chastised, and says sincerely, “Sorry, Cap. Thanks for the toast, I’ll ask next time.” Then he ruins it by winking. Steve rolls his eyes, then laughs.

Sam starts plating the eggs and bacon and Steve adds the (now buttered) toast. They’ve made enough to feed an army--or a handful of Avengers. Everyone scrambles for silverware and stools, jostling over who’s going to sit where.

“Coffee?” Bruce asks.

Bucky holds up his mug, silently asking for a refill.

“Juice for me,” says Sam, heading for the fridge.

“And me,” says Steve, pulling two glasses out of the cupboard.

“Yes on the coffee,” Tony says, settling onto his stool.

Bruce reaches up to the shelf where the mugs live, grabs one and reaches for a second. As his fingers grip the handle he hears a low voice say, “Not that one.”

He turns, surprised, to look at Bucky. “What?”

Bucky just looks at him, his gaze steady. After a long pause he says again, “Not that one.”

“Alright, Bucky. Whatever you say.” He says it like a kindergarten teacher would say to a student she didn’t have the energy to argue with. He grabs another mug, then looks at Bucky as if to ask, _Is this one alright?_ Bucky nods.

Natasha looks at the forbidden mug, then at Clint. He’d come into the room about 90 seconds before, padding as silent as a cat. She sees the dawning comprehension on his face, the wonder.

Outside she’s as impassive as ever. Inside she’s grinning, shrieking. Finally! _Honestly, I thought I was going to have to bang their heads together to get him to see what’s right in front of his face._

Clint looks at Natasha (of course he sees her, he always sees her) and signs, _How long have you known?_

She grins, satisfied, and signs back, _A lot longer than you have._

He shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and joins the others in the kitchen.

“Coffee,” he moans, breathing in the scent as he pours himself a cup. He sits on the stool next to Bucky, hands wrapped around the heat of his coffee, and says in a low voice, “Thanks for saving my mug.”

Bucky’s shrug is nearly imperceptible. “It’s the biggest one. Your favorite.”

“I’m just...surprised you noticed.”

Even from her vantage point across the room Natasha can see the slight flush that creeps up Bucky’s neck and across his cheeks. “I pay attention.” He looks up into Clint’s eyes and adds, “To you.”

Clint’s dopey smile makes her want to cheer. 

He finally seems to realize that maybe he should say something instead of just sitting there grinning like an idiot. “I’m...uh...I’m heading to the range for some practice. After another cup of coffee.”

Bucky snorts. At Clint’s quizzical look Bucky says, “Another _pot_ of coffee, maybe.”

“Yeah, alright.” The ridiculous grin is bigger. “But...uh...to the range? You wanna come? With me?”

“Wow, Barton. That was almost a complete sentence.”

It’s Clint’s turn to turn pink. Nat almost laughs.

Bucky moves his hand across the counter until their pinkies are just touching. “Yeah,” he says. “With you.”

“With you,” Clint echoes. He sounds surprised.

Natasha stands and stretches, lightly making her way to the kitchen. “Morning boys,” she says.

Tony jumps at the sound of her voice. “Holy heart attack, Widow! You should wear a bell.”

“Nah,” she says. “That would ruin my fun.”


End file.
